


Must be a Saturday

by Whisp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisp/pseuds/Whisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's day could probably be going better right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must be a Saturday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Westgate (Harkpad)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/gifts).



> Westgate was having a bad night, so I figured what better way to cheer someone up than with fic! Hope your week improves!
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes! I'm staring down the morning from the wrong side right now.

It had started when his quiver had malfunctioned during his morning practise.

Actually, to be fair, it had probably started the second Phil had left on his month-long mission in middle of ‘stop-asking Clint,-you‘re-not-allowed-to-know‘, but things had really started to escalate this morning when the world had apparently decided it. Hated. Clint. Barton

So instead of firing a normal broadhead tipped arrow like all the other normal broadhead tipped arrows that had proceeded before it, his quiver decided to load an explosive tip.

Ok. So he may have caused the teeny, tiny explosion in the middle of SHIELD headquarters. It wasn’t even his fault. He really didn’t think he deserved to get thrown out of the building for it.

He would have brushed the incident off as an anomaly, except the next thing he decided to do with his newly cleared schedule was to finish up his laundry.

And then he got to watch as the washer chewed up his favourite shirt, dyed a chunk of his clothes pink, and break down before it finished the last rinse cycle.

Clint stared down at his pile of soapy wet clothes. Thank goodness Phil had finished his own laundry before he left on his mission. Clint was going to have to replace the washer before Phil got back or he would get that resigned, disappointed look from him. He hated that look. Which meant he’d have to call ASAP to get it delivered in time.

He reached for his phone when he realized it was missing from it’s usual spot in his back pocket. Wait. Back pocket.

Clint eyed the soggy pile with renewed despair. Aww, phone.

He dropped his head against the wall. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something, he reasoned between thuds on the wall. His clothes were getting a little worn. And his phone was an older model.

Yeah. Maybe that was it. Clint straightened, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, where a faint red mark was visible. Maybe it was time for a shopping trip. He nodded resolutely to himself. See, he could totally be one of those glass half full people. He headed for the closest mall.

Nope. Clint decided vehemently an hour later as his debit card declined for the third time. It was _definitely_ not time for a shopping trip. He glanced over his shoulder at the growing line of impatient shoppers and then looked back at the distinctly not impressed cashier. Apologizing profusely, he fled before the customers decided to band together and mob him.

He got to his bank just as it was about to close, squeezing by the employee trying to lock the doors.

Finally something was going his way, Clint thought as he settled into the back of the line.

Suddenly the doors banged open behind him. Clint whirled around to see three men in balaclavas and holding semi-automatics stalk into the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint shouted and threw his hands into the air as all three guns swivelled to point at him.

Two hours later, there was no hiding Tony’s smirk as he peeled back the gag from Clint’s mouth. “Having an off day, Hawkeye?”

“Don’t even start.” Clint answered as he turned around for Tony to untie his arms. Once those were free, he started at the ties around his ankles.

“I figured you’d have them disarmed with a pen to the eye within 5 minutes.”

“The pens are attached to the counter.” Clint replied sullenly.

Tony chuckled, “Of course. What were you doing here anyway?”

“I locked myself out of my debit account.”

“Seriously? You know JARVIS can-”

“Save it, I don’t want to know.”

Tony sniffed, “You know, you’re a lot nicer when Phil’s in town. Not getting enough action making you cranky?”

“Fuck off, Stark.” Clint snarled and stood. He stalked out of the bank calling over his shoulder. “I’m going home. Don‘t call me unless New York is on fire.” There were six hours left in the day. He was going to go back to his apartment and barricade himself from the outside world. And maybe watch Dog Cops.

By the time Clint made it home from the subway, he’d been rained on, stepped on, shoved, and nearly clipped by a passing car. After the last incident, Clint just sighed, wiped enough muddy water off his face to be able to see where he was going, and trudged the final steps to his apartment building.

He was so done with this day. When he got home, he was going to eat half a jar of Nutella for dinner and crawl into bed for the next 3 days until Phil came home.. If he was lucky, he’d have some peanuts laying around somewhere that he could sprinkle on the Nutella for extra protein.

Who was he kidding. With the way his day was going, he’d be lucky if there was anything edible left in his apartment right now. He’d probably end up eating that jar of questionable mustard that’d been sitting in his fridge for the past 2 years.

When he got inside, he paused. Years of trusting his instincts for survival instantly informed him that there was someone in his apartment.

Clint sighed. Of course there would be someone in his apartment. Fuck everything. Briefly, Clint considered just knocking himself out to save the intruder some time.

That’s when he noticed the smell in the air.

It was the smell of rich, savoury beef, melted mozzarella cheese, and spicy tomato sauce wafting leisurely into the front room. The smell of comfort and home and safety all mixed into one absolutely mouth-watering cacophony of olfactory goodness.

Clint knew that smell. It was unmistakeable.

“Phil?” He called out hesitantly.

Phil appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dishrag. He smiled. “Hey, you got home just in time. The mission finished early so I thought I’d make us-”

Phil cut off abruptly when 200 pounds of soaking wet sniper smacked into him, pressing up as close as possible, and burrowing his head into the side of his neck. He closed his arms around Clint and asked in concerned voice, “Clint? Is there something wrong?”

Without lifting his head, Clint shook it, settling into Phil’s arms with a relieved sigh. “No. Everything‘s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr [peppermintwhisp](http://peppermintwhisp.tumblr.com)


End file.
